This one was lifted from a forum I attend, and I thought it so good, I decided to save it. Haven’t tested it yet ….. will have to see.
Soak 1 kg mixed fruit (Homebrand is just fine) in 600ml of iced coffee/chocolate (or cold coffee) covered, overnight.
Add 2 cups SR flour, mix until combined.
Into a tin (lined with flour coated baking paper)
Bake: 1hr15mins 180degrees C or 160 degrees C (fanforced)
Well, … I am the parent of an “almost” adult, and a preteen. I have putting it off for ages, but eventually, I had to be honest about the make believe aspect of childhood.
Mr11 was rearranging his room, to make space for another bed, for when his cousin visits. He came downstairs with his tooth fairy box, and said to me …. “I suppose I will throw this away” :O “this” was a tooth that had fallen out, but had failed to gain the attention of the tooth fairy, due to the extremely full life the tooth fairy has right now.
I put my arm around his shoulder …..
I said ……. “you know the deal about the tooth fairy don’t you?”. His response, was a very expressive eye roll, followed by …. “of course mum”.
I said …… “I expect you know the deal about Santa and the Easter Bunny too huh?” …. again with the eye roll.
He didn’t seem particularly worried about it. But I was sad, and I said so. See, because as adults we have to be … well grown up. We can’t immerse ourselves in fantasy and make believe like kids can ….. because we have to be sensible (although my mother says I was never actually a child). Giving up Santa, the easter bunny and the tooth fairy …. is letting go of a special sort of make believe for adults.
Mr11, among all his other unique and quite loveable foibles …… has a stutter.
Its not a severe stutter, and it doesn’t limit him in many ways …. and is only an issue if others call attention to it. Its a strange stutter, firstly because its focussed on vowels rather than the starting consonants, and secondly because its only appeared in the last 3 years, rather than from toddlerhood.
So ….. I commenced speech therapy for him this year, not so much to cure him, but to give him strategies and techniques to cope with a speech mannerism that will be with him for life.
I have felt that, because his stutter doesn’t fit into this nice tidy little category … that the therapist is attempting to find another box to slot him into, rather than accepting that this is his unique thing. And so I have been grappling with the question of whether or not he has an anxiety disorder. While he is a sensitive child, and behaves as if he lacks confidence, and he is very shy …… I just don’t believe he is an anxious child. This boy has happily toddled off to scout camp, not knowing anyone, and while I have worried myself into a puddle, he is blissfully happy with his foray’s into independence. He is not frightened of heights, scary places, meeting new people, or trying new foods. He does not have any phobias, or obsessive behaviours. And while he is fanatical about his computer games, that is no different to most other children his age.
As you can imagine, at this point in my life, with the death of my dad, I am more than a bit fragile about just about everything. So why did the Principal pick this time, to quiz me about my son, declare that he has an anxiety disorder, and then infer with her questioning, that it has come about because he (supposedly) lives in the shadow of his sister, and that we as parents are lacking.
At least today, I had some positive results. After completing some assessment pieces with the counsellor, we have been told that mr11 not only comes in as normal, but is consistently well below the borderline area. He has nothing that indicates (clinically) that he has an anxiety disorder. The counsellor feels that mr11 has a stutter …… because he has a stutter. Nothing more, nothing less.
Mr11 is a complex, sensitive, confident but shy, loving and intelligent boy. I don’t want to burden him with the presumptions of others, who seem to think he needs to fit in a box. Today ….. I had a win.
8g Yeast
10g salt
45gms sugar
230mls warm water
50mls milk
1 egg (beaten)
500g bread flour
Optional: 1 clove of crushed garlic or crushed cardamom pods or crushed cumin seeds.
Place into breadmaker (in order recommended by machine manual) and use the dough or pizza bread cycle.
Watch for consistency and add a little more flour or water if needed.
Leaving for an hour after the cycle finishes …. can improve the texture
Roll out a small ball on a lightly floured surface. Beat flat with your fist to give a nice shape …. thickness is a matter of preference.
Brush with melted butter, and grill until brown and beginning to puff up.
Well, I am back after spending a bit over a week with my family, planning and organising the funeral for my Dad. Its been a week of ups and very sad downs, and I feel tired and wrung out.
I arrived on a Friday, and was immediately plunged into the planning of the funeral, with a meeting at the Funeral Home on the Saturday. We met with the extremely tall, very well manicured, but in possession of the freakiest blink on the planet …. Chris, who took us through the paperwork. There were amusing moments … like who voluntarily remembers the name of the wicked witch (aka the stepmother …. or in our case both of them). We managed to lose Dad’s licence for a while, which was entertaining. Found it in my sister’s wallet, the one person who you would expect to NOT lose something.
Thankfully, my father had a funeral plan, which meant that we didn’t have to shoulder the thousands it would have required for even a simple funeral. Still, wading though the paperwork to prise the money out of the insurance company’s hands was interesting.
And then mother arrived. Mother is ex-wife number 1, of 3 …. and has been divorced for decades. WTH she felt is necessarily to bless us with her “just given up smoking” moodiness at this time ….. is beyond me. Chances are she has oodles of unresolved issues with Dad, but by the end of the week, I was ready to wipe her out of my life totally …… she was hurtful and vindictive, at a time we could least able to cope with it. Her fixation with money, and his will, was frustrating.
We had our usual episodes of drama queen behaviour from dad’s siblings, but we managed those ok. On the day of the funeral (Friday 11th June), Mum attempted to hijack the preparations again, and I had to put her in her place. Dad went to god with his Lodge tie on, and a fishing rod. His eulogy was a tribute to his laughter, and his love of fishing. I may post a copy at a later date, along with the order of service. The wake was a tense affair, with all his family that have studiously ignored the three of us these last 20 years. We got lots of instructions to “stay in touch” but I think they realise that there are some bridges that won’t be rebuilt.
Tam and I had planned to have a drink at the end of the day. This just didn’t happen. We were both so wrung out, without any emotional energy to deal with anything. Mum was again her usual abrasive self, and going to bed was the best way to stop her from making us any angrier.
And so, we said goodbye. He is in a lovely shady lawn area, near gum trees that make it look like a river bank. My dad wasn’t a perfect parent. He had faults, and was terrible at being a husband. He could be thoughtless and hurtful, but he also loved us ….. perhaps that is all we should really ask for …. to be loved. I am sad, but I will survive.
Dad slipped into a peaceful sleep, and died ….. last night.
I have had a day at home today, to handle phone calls, book flights, receive a beautiful bunch of flowers, and just generally absorb the news.
We are now in the throes of organising the funeral, and I remember just how much of a trauma that was with Isabeau, so I am working hard to not let the process upset me with this one. I am not rushing, and I keep reminding myself that I don’t have to rush through the plans.
Thankyou to everyone who helped me get through the stress of dealing with the grasping relatives. Now to fend off the well-meaning ones who want to butt into the funeral arrangements.
My dad is dying.
We have known that this would happen for a while now, and really we are all surprised it hasn’t happened before now. But, the consequences of his heart attack, not looking after himself, and dementia ….. mean that he is fading.
I am not sure how to feel. So many friends have lost parents, and are immobilised by grief, speaking of losing their “best friend”, and that their lives are irreparably damaged by this most drastic pain.
I don’t feel this way. I am sad that his life is coming to and end. I feel sympathy for him, because without faith to cushion the fear, death is a big black scary nothing. I feel frustration about the conflicts and disagreements surrounding his care in these last couple of months. I worry about my ability to adequately manage the details of his care, his funeral, and his will. And a small part of me grieves for the perfect parent of my imagination ….. that I never had in real life anyway.
Does this make me a terrible daughter. That I am caught up in the details, and have no space left to grieve.
You know the problem .. you place child onto the change table, and child instantly turns into an electrified octopus, who has had too much sugar. Often this will include twisting, rolling, sticking their hands into the nappy, kicking … and often all of the above.
The problem with trying to stop this behaviour when its been happening for quite a while, is that the behaviour is entrenched. When using “Uh Uh”(or any other verbal prompt), basically you start that as soon as they start attempting to roll. By being consistent with the rules (no rolling, hands away, lie still), and using the same verbal prompt (UhUh) every single time, you train the child that while they are being changed, they do not move, and certainly do not put their hands in the nappy. Of course they will forget, which is why its important to use the same rule and prompt at all times. There is no point getting cross at them, or making your expectations stricter every time they try to do the wrong thing ….. because you confuse them, and you teach them that you are inconsistent … this is about educating them.
Trying to exert control with a toddler, when you haven’t laid the ground rules …… is going to be that much harder. I would suggest developing a series of steps for nappy change time. Such as …..
1. Lie on the change table
2. Hands above your head
3. Nappy off
4. Bum clean
5. Nappy on
6. Hooray!
In special needs programs, you would actually have a steps chart, with a picture image for each step. You use the same language, and exactly the same steps …. EVERY SINGLE TIME. This is super important. You can’t train the child to do the correct behaviour, if you alter your expectations all the time. Make sure you tell the child what they are going to do next….. Now we are taking the nappy off. Now we are cleaning your bum, now we are putting your nappy on. Hooray!
Finally …. there needs to be an incentive. Giving a toy, food or sticker …. while still having them behave in the wrong way …. reinforces that they don’t have to behave. So to start with ….. give them a clear instruction ….. “Lie still” …. when they do what their told, reward immediately with praise and cuddles. If child attempts to roll or put their hands in the nappy, grab both hands, and then press them against the child’s chest, while saying “Uh Uh” … and then repeat saying the step. Once they give in, again praise and cuddles. At the end of the entire process, hop off the table, both hands in the air and a loud Hooray!.
A tap on the leg may work ok …… but without education about what is expected, all that it teaches is that mummy inflicts pain. Physical discipline is only an emphasis …. a way to grab the child’s attention. It needs to accompany real education and training.
***I had posted this in a topic in a forum, but I feel its a good reminder to myself, especially when I am disappointed about my parents and their relationship with me. ****
I have at times cut my parents off, but I haven’t cut ties totally. My parents are a complex pair. Mum is a selfish drama queen, who is prone to depression. Dad is a selfish control freak, with an impulsive, cruel nature. As you can imagine, those personality types, attempting to parent a highly emotional, sensitive child …. was probably bound to fail. The emotional abuse I suffered from both of them still shows scars now. They divorced when I was 10. During and following that divorce, my brother and I were constant ammunition, and punching bags …. for two angry people, who had no idea how to deal with the failure of their marriage.
When I got married, I think a fair portion of my initial choice was an “escape” from both parents. Lucky for me, my choice was a good one, and we are still married, and deeply in love. But that hasn’t stopped either of them, for criticising my choice, and attempting to destroy my happiness. As a result, while I have always maintained a physical distance (living 1000’s km away, and now interstate), I also maintain an emotional distance. Mum has always been aware of this, and chooses to ignore it. Dad is only becoming aware of it now, and occasionally attempts to bully me into giving more, but I am too independent now, to be pushed around by him.
I am not saying that the way I choose to manage my relationship with my parents, is the correct way. Its the way that works for me, or at least works for me, right now. Tomorrow, next year or further ….. the situation may change.
Man Land …… is complete. 😀
So …. the agreement was that when the treadmill sold, hubby would appropriate that particular corner of the shed … and it would become …… MAN LAND!!!
So … treadmill is gone. First stage ….. corner tidied, and new bike moved to it.
I found a very sturdy 2m workbench on freecycle, and so we went and picked it up this afternoon. This then required a trip to bunnings …. to buy some draw organisers, some parts buckets, and a bulb for a spare desk lamp so he has more light. He now wants me to keep an eye on freecycle for a bar stool.
LOL …… he is out there now ….. working on the bike, and organising his workbench.
a man's gotta have a shed
